Lost Boys
by LadyGranuaille
Summary: Hijinks and mystery as Barbossa and crew head off to save Sparrow and meet the Brethren. Continuation of Sparrow and the Swan, Desperate Men, and Love for the Sea. See All Good Things must come to an End for conclussion of the entire series.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

_Disclaimer: I do not own the gorgeous William Turner, the surly Barbossa or the jovial Mr. Gibbs, nor any of the rest of the crew included here. Now that we've got that over with,_

_This fic is the companion/ pre-quel to "The Sparrow and the Swan", which deals with Elizabeth and Jack. Sequels to this and "S &S" are "Love for the Sea" continuing the adventures of J and E, "Desperate Men", dealing with Jones himself, Beckett and Norrington. Sequel to all three is called "All Good Things Must Come to an End"._

_To simplify; S&S+LBDM+LftSAll Good Things… End._

_Reviews with some criticism are welcome, so long as it comes with advice._

_Enjoy!_

Chapter One

William Turner was quite at odds with himself. He had spent his entire life living up to one dream. And now, she was gone.

"Ahoy, Turner! Will yea be tying off that line?"

Gibbs; always a man of the sea. This brought Will out of his thoughts, momentarily. He nodded to the man, and to prove it, began an intricate looping of the rope.

But it wasn't long until his mind returned to its fitful thoughts. He had left her- it had seemed the only logical thing to do at the time. Her betrayal made it too difficult for him to even look her in the eye. Elizabeth, or Lizzie, as Jack had come to call her. No, it wasn't betrayal. Sparrow had taken advantage of his lady, his love, Elizabeth had been cornered into the situation. Turner yanked harder than necessary on the line, and the rope sliced into his flesh. He bit his lip with anger until the blood came. Swallowing the briny warmth, he looked at his palm.

"Yet another callous. One for my hand, two for my heart..."

"And three for your head!"

Barbossa had come up, expecting to frighten Will. But the young man was cold, nothing scared him. If before he'd been willing to die for her, he now wanted to die because of her.

"Yea know, lad, sobbin' bout these decks doesn't do anything for ye."

Turner turned to look at him with hard eyes, and firmer jaw, but this captain was not jaunted

"Or the crew for that matter. Is it still the young lady yer missin'? Her touch cannot be that warm to the flesh. If it was that, Singapore is our next port after this. Know a few willing geishas who still owe me some favors."

He smiled as congenially as possible, but it was lost on Turner. What he felt for Elizabeth was not the slow burn of lust. It was flaming heat of unrequited love.

"That won't be necessary, captain."

Will nearly spit the last word.

"I thank you for the offer nonetheless."

He walked away, and spat the blood from his bit lip onto the deck.

Barbossa stood watching the tortured young man. A monkey came down from the jig lines, and lighted on his owner's shoulder.

"The strongest never break easy, do they Jack?"

The primate chirruped back, and began a combing of Barbossa's hair. Finding no fleas, he screamed in anger.

The man laughed at his small companion's frustration,

"You know that finding one wouldn't fill the hole in your belly, any ways! Undead monkeys can't eat!"

He roared even louder with candid joy. The creature howled its sorrow: together they made a disturbing duet.

From the helm, Gibbs looked out on the scene before him. Cotton was checking the sails for any tears, well, Mr. Cotton's parrot was. Cotton went to fix any discrepancies the bird found. The weathered sailor was glad to see that there were in fact few holes for the man to repair. That reflected on the quality of the rest of the ship. Gibbs smiled proudly to no one in particular. It had been he who had spotted this particular vessel in its port at Tortuga and made a case for it to be what they set their sights on. Aye, and set their sights on it they did. The name on the side planks read _Bella Muerte_, perfect for their destination. Although, he had to admit, he was a bit partial to the smaller sloops. It didn't have as much cannon fire as he was used to, but he hoped they wouldn't require it. He knocked on the wood, to counter the jinx-full thought as it went through his mind. One of the only let downs of this ship was the shortness of the bowspirit. This inequity had quickly been forgiven upon seeing the stores. Full provisions for a four month expedition, feeding a crew of 75, were present in hold. The men had reveled for the first three days out of port. But Barbossa had put an end to that. Gibbs could see why Jack had been ousted by this man. He was a devilish scoundrel with evil intent, to be sure. But he knew how to keep a crew in line. This made him an excellent leader- no man desired to oppose him. Gibbs was just happy he had been allowed to remain as a boatswain, he and the others had been just a little afraid their new 'captain' would want a different crew. But that witch woman had instructed the resurrected pirate,

"Those thad be a journeying to da ends ub de earth must be of a great desire to be a going dere. There ain't no man that would be a goin on dis journey if he 'ad no great love for Captain Jack Sparrow."

For some reason, the whelp had been appointed as quartermaster. He had no great experience on the sea. In fact, of all those onboard, he had the least. Even that Dalma woman had greater sailor legs than he. But his disposition complemented that of Barbossa in a way that Gibbs himself had to admire. Both were cynical in a way that reminded all of the crew of their dire mission. No one entirely understood what they were approaching. Barnacles, they didn't have the foggiest idea of the danger they were headed for! But none of them had any desire to turn around. Gibbs sighed. The world just wasn't the same without Jack Sparrow.

Pintel and Ragetti were, as always, joyful to be on the sea again.

"Do you think we's really going to the ends of the earth?"

Ragetti stared at his one-eyed companion for a moment before answering,

"Do you?"

"I don't much know. I never thought that I would be one so...chosen for such journey in life. It's almost as though we was goin' to save Jonah. Ordained by God, or somewhat..."

"Gar, you fool! We wasn't 'ordained'! We volunteered for this!"

Pintel recieved a sharp smack upside his head.

"Hey, no reason to go be getting violent!"

"And since when is you opposed to bein violent?"

To this, Pintel pulled out a torn bible and held it over his heart,

"Since I began to seek salvation."

He said this to his mate with such redeeming grace and poignancy, that Ragetti was awed for a moment. But only for a moment. He shook his head of grisly hair in disapproval.

The two were quiet for a few minutes, staring at the sunset on the horizon.

"What do you suppose is awaiting for us at the End?"

Ragetti chewed the insides of his cheeks in concentration. It was the adverse effect of his mind attempting to recall the details of a particular rhyme he'd heard as a child.

"The water's will run on and on,

For all of eternity,

Over the edge, each drop a pawn,

Of the endless sea"

Pintel brought his hand up to stroke his chin in deep thought,

"Now what do you fancy that means? Its awfully purdy sounding."

"Well, it makes a picture in me head of a big, thundering waterfall. I suppose all the water in the world would have to pour out the sides, like gravy on a plate."

Ragetti illustrated the image with his hands, as elegantly as his skills allowed. Pintel squinted his one eye in consideration.

"Well, what about the world not being flat? What if it were round, like me eye?"

Here he grotesquely produced the wooden implement from its socket.

"The world can't be round! How would all the people stay put? And the water? Wouldn't it just all fall off till there was nothin' left?"

Again, the one-eyed man brought a hand up to his chin, using the other to replace his fake eye. He stuck his tongue out in the effort to think,

"One must assume that there is a deep, natural force holding everything down. Yes, that makes since, else, why would things fall to the ground when you drop them?"

"That's the most ridiculous thing I ever heard- 'deep, natural force'. What sort of rubbish is that? Sometimes I wonder about you, mate. Maybe you been too long in the sun."

Thoroughly disheartened by his friend's lack of faith, Pintel hung his head.

"It was just an idea..."

"Thinking is not what we do"

To prove this, he held aloft carpentry tools. They were in fact in hire for the sake of repairing the various holes in the ship. Carpentry was a fairly safe vocation onboard a ship, and most surely a secure one, so both men were comfortable among their crew mates. It was in the company of that witch that made them eschewed.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter II:

She had just come out on deck, with a big yellow snake round her shoulders. She walked about the planks, making odd gestures to different parts of the ship. She came up behind Gibbs at the helm. He leaned in closer to the turning wheel in response to her presence, and he crossed himself. She seemed to sense his fear, and came up close behind him, peering over his shoulder,

"We's a bit off de course der, ain't we Mr. Gibbs?"

The man was confounded for a moment and grasped for her meaning. Looking at the compass, he finally understood. The needle showed them to be going too far south. He corrected this by pulling the wheel three bars over,

"Right you are, ma'am."

He swallowed nervously; she smiled with blackened teeth in return,

"We can't be affordin such mistakes at de speed we be travellin at, you know."

Yes, Gibbs knew. The woman had somehow manipulated the currents of the air and sea to aide their travel. With only two weeks out of port, they were already rounding the tip of the Americas. No man questioned how this was possible-such a journey was known to take months. Stranger yet, the witch promised even greater haste when they reached the other side. But as though this were not fortunate enough, never had the weather at the cape been so fair as it was as they sailed round it.

Confident she'd made the appropriate action; the woman stepped back and observed the crew from the higher standpoint. There were many lost souls onboard, the perfect crew for their destination. Again, she murmured softly to the ocean. She slowly opened her eyes to view her success, the sails again billowed and furled. That old man and his bird looked about in confusion. She chuckled at their bewilderment and continued updating the various incantations that kept their progress so speedy.

From his station, Will watched the barbarian woman and allowed his mind to wander. This was the type of creature Jack was attracted to, this and common whores. Why had he taken any interest in Elizabeth? She was proper, beautiful in a pure way and a complete lady in all respects. Why had the man Will had thought he could trust delved into the innocent kiss of his fiancée? Will again slammed his knife into the hardwood of the railing. The men around him had given up on looking up curiously. He knew what they were thinking.

"Why is this grumpy vagabond appointed as quartermaster?"

They all knew what they were sailing towards would bring little, if any, wealth that would require fair dealings.

Will roughly pulled the small weapon for its wooden sheath and replaced it into the leather one at his belt. Giving the bank-less ocean one last grim stare for the day, he turned and strode into his cabin. Once there, he sat down at his desk and began a letter to Elizabeth. He knew their next port wasn't until the Singapore, but any ship from there would likely have the note reach Ms. Swan before Turner ever returned to the Caribbean. With this joyless thought, he began the correspondence his heart knew would never be sent.

"_Darling Elizabeth_,"

He scribbled it out, feeling it was no longer appropriate to speak to her thus.

"_Dear Elizabeth,_

_I must confess to you that it is unlikely that I will return to you rapidly, if at all. True, our speed is hastened by the witchery of Tia Dalma. Her confidence that Jack can be reclaimed from Jones' Locker is stalwart. In light of such headstrong behavior, the crew is adamant…"_

Suddenly, Will realized the coldness of his own voice in it. This was unfair to Elizabeth. He was misplacing his blame-Sparrow had taken advantage of his weepy fiancée. It wasn't her fault that Jack had kissed her so boldly.

"_You are in my thoughts endlessly. I ardently desire to only be once again by your side, beloved. Please keep me in such dear reminiscences of your own, till my return. I swear, I shall make up for all the inequities this separation has caused. Until that beautiful hour,_

_Ever yours, _

_William"_

As he replaced the pen in its inkwell, a knock came at his door.

"Enter"

The clumsy cabin boy entered, bowing nervously before his quartermaster.

"Well, what is it lad?"

Will's attempt at friendliness appeared to go unnoticed. The poor kid looked absolutely terrified.

"The Captain Barbossa would like to share his hospitality with the Quartermaster Turner this evening. Dinner will be served at half past seven in his private cabin. Master Gibbs will also likely be present."

"Are you to wait for a message?"

The lad nodded.

"Then you may inform the Captain that"

Will paused. It would be pointless to continue avoiding Barbossa's attempts at conversation. He obviously had a bone to pick with Turner.

The boy was still standing there, waiting for the rest of the message.

"That I will be joining him at half past seven."

"Very good, sir."

Will checked the angle of the sun. It was barely five. He rubbed his temples in agitation and walked to his cot. As he kicked off his shoes, he tried to look forward to a restful nap. It was his turn to stand night watch, so this little sleep would be very precious. Sighing, he knew it would indeed be little sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter III:

"Mr. Turner, sir. Please wake up. The Captain's losing his patience!"

Will rolled over to see the petrified face of a cabin boy.

"The Captain and Master Gibbs have been waiting nigh quarter of the hour, sir. I believe they are quite too hungry to allow this tardiness!"

Will rubbed his eyes, and stood up. Normally, he would ignore such annoying tones, but he could tell the boy's well-being was at risk. He remembered his part as cabin boy in his youth. When anyone around you was unhappy, they let you know with a slam of their voice, or worse, their fist.

"Thank you-I'm sorry-I never got your name."

The lad blushed slightly. No one was kind enough to bother with his name. But the color drained out of his cheeks as he realized how fortunate he'd been for that. His real reason for this voyage had to remain anonymous. Quickly, he fabricated a name.

"Um…Jonathan Smith, sir."

"John Smith…good name."

Will smiled in hopes of calming the boy, but instead, the lad quickly bowed and rushed out of the room. Turner let out a sigh and pulled his shoes on. Grabbing a glance at himself in the mirror, he realized how disheveled he looked.

"All the better. Don't want to let on that I'm getting enough sleep."

………………………………………………………………………….

For the last twenty minutes, Gibbs had fearfully attempted to engage Barbossa in conversation. He didn't know much about the man, other than he organized the mutiny against Jack and lived as an undead pirate for 11 years. Naturally, their conversation avoided those two sensitive topics.

"So…the monkey. Its tame?"

"Eh? Jack? Tame? No, damn 'im, no. Impossible to tame something that can't die."

"Why's that?"

"You can't strike the fear of death into 'em!"

Barbossa threw his head back in laughter. Trying to play along, Gibbs chuckled. But the Captain quickly stopped.

"But it is no laughing matter; being unable to die."

He emphasized the last word. Realizing this was the exact topic he was seeking to avoid. Gibbs panicked and was locked in a staring contest with the man across from him.

Luckily, Will walked in and both of them looked up at his entrance.

"I apologize for my lateness, Captain. I must have dozed off."

Barbossa smiled cruelly. He immediately thought of a thousand ways to torture Lover boy for his lack of sleep. But the corners of his mouth dropped as he recalled that was not the purpose of this meeting.

"Aye, happens to the best of us, Mister Turner."

Gibbs recalled the tardiness that Bootstrap had likewise kept. A woman's presence was not required for her to distract. Bill was always losing sleep worrying he would come back to port to find another man in his bed. True, in his case, this fear came to be quite unimagined. But none on board the _Bella Muerte _doubted the faithfulness of Elizabeth, if only because they knew not of the kiss she stole from Sparrow. However, not even this truly disturbed Will-Jack was dead, for the time being.

Gibbs wanted to keep the mood light, so he tried a neutral subject,

"You remind me of your father, Turner."

Unfortunately, Barbossa was not entirely up to being of a fair disposition himself,

"Aye, I can see the resemblance. 'Cept you don't have a cannon ball tied to your laces! Ha ha ha!"

Will had not felt any bitterness or anger the first time he'd heard of how his father was disposed of. Perhaps it was because deep down, he'd known all along his father was still alive…somewhat. Although, to be truthful to himself, he knew it was more likely that he had never known his father enough to notice him being gone. Therefore, Barbossa's remark caused no flinch in Turner's disposition. Bootstrap Turner's existence as being doubly cursed, however, caused his son deep remorse and distress. Ignoring this, he decided he would play along to the Captain's brand of humor,

"Nor any barnacles on my neck. I suppose the resemblance stops at our eyes."

Barbossa roared with laughter in approval. Gibbs looked slightly perturbed, shook his head slightly and chuckled. But Will could tell the laugh was not even halfhearted.

The cabin boy, John, came in with steaming trays of fresh fish, a platter of crusty bread and a jug of ale. At the sight and smell of the food, Will's stomach gave a growl. In all his brooding, he'd forgotten how hungry he was. Barbossa heard the grumbling belly, and realized it was now he who was keeping his guests from eating. For a moment, he entertained the notion of keeping them from eating for a bit longer, but he decided against it. He no longer desired a contemptuous crew under his command,

"Eat up, gents, no reason to wait on pleasantries, as I always say."

William dished himself up from each of the platters, three times, and refilled his flagon with ale more often than poor John could supply the drink. Surprisingly, Gibbs ate delicately, and with grace, making the effort to chew all his food before swallowing it or speaking. Barbossa, however, ate nothing. The other two men did not notice. Finally, all three sat back from the table. Gibbs brought out a small pipe and lit it. He wanted very much to get on with the meeting, but it wasn't his place. He was only boatswain, Turner was at least quartermaster. He simply waited until the Captain was ready to begin his oration.

Fortunately, Barbossa was well aware of the necessity to begin with their dire mission.

"Now, as ye know, our purpose in going to the End of the Earth is to reclaim the soul of Jack Sparrow. It is no pleasurable business for me, as I'm sure it won't be for Jack, but that's just the way the Kraken swims."

Knowing he was now given permission to speak, Gibbs rejoined,


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter:IV

"Aye, Captain. Now, what is it we's to do once we get to the End?"

Will had no knowledge of pirate lore, and decided that for the time being, he would keep his peace.

"I think we ought to start at the beginning. Ye ever heard of the Brethren, Turner?"

Will shook his head 'No'. Barbossa stared at him blankly for a moment, not comprehending how a man of the sea could be so ignorant of such things,

"How did you manage to sail under the command of Jack Sparrow and never hear a lick of the Brethren?"

"Jack wasn't too much for talking about much anything but his self"

Barbossa and Gibbs both nodded, understanding. A silent moment followed; a questioning of the worthwhile of their venture. But Barbossa had no choice; success must be achieved if he was to retain his life's thread. So, he continued.

"Well, the Brethren, they're what ya might call…a secret society of sorts. An ancient organization of men of the sea; sailors, pirates, merchants, navy. But they're rather selective about membership."

Will, playing into the role of curiosity, questioned,

"What must one do to become a member?"

Barbossa meant to keep an air of mystery, and simply smiled benignly. Gibbs, however, loved nothing more than explaining pirate lore,

"Well, first, a man must dedicate himself to the sea. He must make an oath, to the ancient spirits that keep the tides and stay the typhoons. He cannot have any other-"

He was cut short by the sounds of lowered voices, arguing outside the door. Will looked at his companions, furrowing his brow in confusion. He than stood up, strode to the door, and pulled it open rapidly. In poured Pintel, Ragetti and Cotton.

Ragetti looked up, sheepishly,

"We want to hear the story"

Barbossa was confounded. Never, in all his years as a captain, had he surveyed such immature behavior among members of the crew. He was nearly to the point of raising a storm of anger, threatening the men with the Cat o' Nine Tails, when a notion came to him. It was not of his own mind, the voice of the witch again whispered in his ear,

"_These men be needin to know the fruits ub der destinies. If not, than the touch of It will fade from der souls, and der be no thread left for you to cling to"_

From under his eyebrows, Barbossa glared dangerously at the men, but chose to tolerate their intrusion, if only to maintain his own existence. Following his lead, they settled out on empty chairs and the floor. Once seated, they peered expectantly up at Gibbs, who seemed to shine with pride. But he quickly looked to the captain for approval. Barbossa refused to offer it, yet neither his disapproval. This was enough invitation for the story-teller,

"As I was saying, he makes an oath to the spirits that he will devote his entire life's work to the sea, and nothing else. Now, for any sailor, this may seem to be no small task. His well-being depends on the ocean. But there's a catch."

Gibbs paused for dramatic effect, holding his hand aloft,

"In devoting himself entirely to the spirits of the deep, to do their bidding, he locks himself away from any…attachments, you might say. He can never fall in love, or keep any sort of loyalty to anyone or anything."

Pintel turned to his ratty-haired companion, and whispered,

"That's terrible. What about him mum?"

But Ragetti was too enamored with the lore to bother speculating on such insignificant articles. He shushed Pintel, and turned back to Gibbs. He wanted too know what sort of benefit a man might receive in exchange for such a sacrifice.

Gibbs was a gifted and talented story teller. He knew exactly how to lead his audience on, begging for the next part of the tale. He had learned long ago that most men had no care for the truth of the matter, since living on the seas seems to wash away any doubts about what is and is not possible anyway. Therefore, he was confident that the looks of consternation around him were not disbelief, but hope,

"Now, you might ask yerself, why would a man do this? What possible amount of treasure or glory could drive him to such a thing?"

Again he paused, he could see from the corner of his eye that Ragetti was so full of anticipation that the man's grizzly face quivered, but Gibbs needed to utter only one word,

"Immortality"

Pintel let out a long whistle, and couldn't help but respond,

"Ever-lasting life, but not salvation."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter V:

Ragetti elbowed him in the ribs,

"Who cares about salvation?"

From his seat across from Gibbs, Will watched the men. Ragetti's question struck him as foolish. Was salvation not what all men sought after? He had met despicable men before his adventures with Sparrow, but none so careless for the condition of his own soul. As Will spent more time with the former crews of the Black Pearl, he had begun to understand what drove a man to such conditions. Desperation. Greed. He thought of himself; loneliness.

Gibbs continued on, feeling the tension in the room, and realizing that perhaps a quick ending to his tale would be best.

"His immortality is neither cursed nor dependent on the cleanliness of his soul. He need only listen to the will of the sea, and obey Her command. Now, the Brethren were founded by the first men who discovered this. They met on a somewhat regular basis of sorts, once a season, twice a year, once every decade. But never too often, lest they attract suspicion from other sailors"

Cotton looked to his parrot, who asked the man's question for him,

"A ship needs planks!"

"Aye, Cotton, but too many men devoting themselves to the sea gods was no good. You see, there're only so many tasks the spirits want done. If there are too many souls devoting themselves, the spirits might no longer have reason to offer such a high reward."

William pursed his lips, drawing rays of comprehension across this tale and his own, but some things didn't pan out,

"The Brethren kept their secret to maintain the lucrative position of immortality. Selfish, but effective. But how long ago were the Brethren founded? If it is as ancient as you say, than shouldn't there be sailors from centuries ago?"

Gibbs smiled, showing his yellowed and capped teeth,

"Who's to say there aren't? Who here can say he's sailed every drop of the deep, and seen every ship's prow that sails? Especially in the waters approaching the End of the Earth?"

Pintel felt in involuntary shiver run up his spine, and turned to Ragetti,

"That's downright terrifyin. Seeing one of the Argonauts or whatnot out in the fog of the sea…"

"Gar, you fool! We was undead for 11 years! What little bit o' Greek gonna do to the likes of us?!"

"Davy Jones, mates."

The last comment came from Barbossa, who had finally grown weary of the childish banter of his crewmen. Will looked at the captain curiously; did the man suggest that Jones was a member of the Brethren? Than what use were they, if Jones was one of them? Barbossa continued, knowing Gibbs had no knowledge of this part of the tale. Only men who had had dealings with the Brethren or Jones himself could fill in the details.

"Aye, Davy Jones himself. What to us is many hundreds of years is but a heart beat to Jones, although he's no heart to tell the space of time."

He chuckled darkly at his own humor, and continued,

"He was one of the original members, deeply entrusted by the ancient gods of the Aegean to do their bidding. But he failed them. Not in any task they commanded him. Neither did he falter in his oath, although some might argue differently. He did fall in love, but by a trick of fate, he was still entirely devoted to the gods of the sea."

Here, William took his cue. He knew all too well the ironies of love,

"It was a goddess"


	6. Chapter 6

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"Aye, Calypso herself. He became Her personal messenger to those that would show her worship. She favored him above the rest, made him a part god. But, just like any woman and the sea itself, she was turbulent and ever changing in her moods. She decided she no longer desired Jones to be her favored one. She turned him away. At first, he accepted this, thinking perhaps she was endangering her position among the other gods. But such a thing was impossible. So, he continued to love her, and she became angry with him."

Gibbs had from the moment the captain had begun his oration hung on every word, lining it up with what he already knew of the accursed captain of the Flying Dutchmen. But one thing didn't line up,

"If she was so angry with him, than why does he continue living on? Why did she not… strip him of his immortality?"

"She couldn't. It was not her decision, but a pact Jones had made with Poseidon himself. When Jones finally saw that she would no longer have him, he wished he could die. So, he went to the highest god of the sea, and begged that his life be ended. But Poseidon found this man to be stalwart, and reliable. His use was not yet dispensable. Instead, the god offered Jones an opportunity to continue living for all eternity, but to do so without pain."

Here, Gibbs was nearly able to draw the story full circle. The Flying Dutchmen and her crew were easily enough obtained, so that was explainable. But one thing was still not accounted for,

"And the Kraken? Why was Jones endowed with control over the beast?"

Barbossa smiled, he'd never been a sentimental man, and this portion of the tale was particularly unsentimental.

"Poseidon, though he is god over all the ocean, was not able to keep order over all its waves. To the north, far to the north, there were men of the sea. They were of fair stock, but their ways were dark, and did little to appease the gods, but they made their wealth by the ocean. They took for themselves, but they did not give of themselves"

The men round the table raised eyebrows and dropped jaws, as the captain lowered his voice to nearly a whisper.

"The gods sent Jones to punish them. But Poseidon, he is no fool. Though these Vikings of the north were brutal, ungrateful creatures, they were skilled sailors. Of these, the god knew he could make use. He summoned his leviathan, the Kraken, and handed the reins of it to Jones to subdue the barbarians in the north. Master Gibbs can recount the remainder."

Barbossa pulled a flagon from the linings of his jacket, and drank heavily from the brew. Gibbs appeared dumbfounded for a moment, but was quickly able to access

"Aye, subdue 'em he did. We may know a fraction of the terror of the Kraken, but we escaped its grasp-"

Here, he paused and turned to William, with a smile of gratitude. The rest of the crew did likewise. Turner felt slightly uncomfortable; he had done nothing to deserve such gratitude. He had thought only of himself and Elizabeth. There was no heroism in that. Gibbs continued,

"When a ship is grounded by the Kraken, most of the crew, well, if they're lucky, die drowning. But those that don't- they are given two options. Join their mates, at the bottom of the sea"

Here, Gibbs made a violent slashing motion across his throat with the pad of his thumb. Pintel involuntarily reached for his neck, and swallowed roughly.

"Or, he can sell his soul to Jones for a hundred years, and escape death"

Barbossa again picked up the narrative where Gibbs left off,

"As Poseidon and Jones had expected, the Vikings were fearful creatures when faced with their own mortality. A man that dies at sea has no funeral rites read. They enslaved themselves to Jones, and so he collects the souls of the damned. He and his beast know them by the flesh of their hands. It turns black with their sins, and is a beacon to the Kraken"

Cotton, Ragetti and Pintel all looked at their hands, and sighed with relief when they saw the skin unmarked by the black spot. Will smiled, slightly. He was not yet sure how much of this he believed. In his own mind, he had found a way to rationally explain the cursed crew of the _Black Pearl_ and the oddity of the _Flying Dutchmen_. It was taxing on his sanity; perhaps it would be easier to believe this pirate lore. Either way, his curiosity was nearly full for the night. Yet, the End of the Earth had yet to be explained. As though this very thought summoned her, Tia Dalma strode into the room, uninvited.

"You be forgettin to tell des men about how one is to be escapin from Jones and death, Captain. Him tale of de Kraken and the gods is not what be important to des men that set out to save Jack Sparrow."

"They need not know of the fate of Sparrow"


	7. Chapter 7

Durzas and Ebyn had been pursuing the trail for only ten minutes, when Durzas suddenly stopped dead in his tracks

"But ub de Brethren, if des men be summonin de Brethren, they must have faith on the seas and de gods"

William felt his eyebrows raise in alarm. Had the witch said 'Summoning'? Sail through treacherous waters, yes, leave his only love thousands of leagues alone, yes, but summon a horde of undying men capable of reawakening the dead? He tried reminding himself what he was doing all this for. It would make Elizabeth happy. She'd been so heartbroken and forlorn when Jack had died. If he was able to bring Sparrow back, what had made William believe that Elizabeth would come back to him, the black smith? Suddenly, he felt ill. He no longer cared for this venture. He stood up to leave, and the ship heaved as a wave struck the prow.

All the men stumbled slightly except for Barbossa, and Dalma stood her ground. She stared at Will with a fire in her eyes,

"Der be one here that is not willin to be on this journey to de Ends of the Earth. The ship cannot sail with an unwilling soul, Mr. Turner"

William wanted to feel angry, to tell her he no longer cared about the venture. But he could not. He felt only remorse for the loss of the woman he loved. He realized what a fool he had been to believe that bringing Sparrow back would make her love him again. His lip quivered, and his eyes welled with tears he would not let fall,

"I apologize, Captain. But I cannot change the condition of my heart. If it is undesirable for me to accompany the crew any longer, I will leave the ship."

Dalma looked with worry to the captain. This had been anticipated, but they had hoped the ship would not be so far out to sea. Her incantations acted upon the desires of those on board the ship. If even the heart of one was against their progress, her spells had no effect. Barbossa did not know what to do; unfortunately, the lad could not be forced into wishing to continue on the journey.Were it an option, the captain would have the boy left in a small dinghy, whilst the remainder of the crew continued on. But no. The fate of Jack Sparrow depended on William Turner. And the life of Hector Barbossa depended on that of Jack Sparrow. What terrible magic the witch woman had worked for all this to come about was beyond Barbossa. But the fact that she had achieved what he'd been promised by her was enough to give him faith.

Dalma strode toward Will, a look of understanding upon her face. She brought her hand up and gently touched his cheek.

"Dat woman's love for you is strong, William Turner. I saw it on her face, and in her soul"

Her lips pursed and she nodded her head. Will brought up his eyes to meet hers and when they locked, the tears fell. Inside his head, he heard her voice, though her mouth did not move,

"_She will remain true to you, but only if you trust her. No amount of bodily wants can tear dat woman from what her heart desires"_

William swallowed roughly and nodded his head back to her. As he did so, the ship gave a slight lurch as it began its progress again.

Dalma stepped back from him, and took Barbossa's arm in her own. Together, they exited the door opposite Turner that lead to the Captain's quarters. He did not allow his mind to pursue thoughts after them. In his heart, he felt a bitter sweet joy, praying to whatever gods watched over him that he might only have the good fate to return to her.


	8. Chapter 8

Durzas and Ebyn had been pursuing the trail for only ten minutes, when Durzas suddenly stopped dead in his tracks

Barbossa led the woman to her divination post, a small stool seated before a barrel. The barrel was in fact a crude cauldron. It was covered; Dalma delicately removed the wooden slab that served as a lid. Barbossa stepped forward, so that the witch could see his face reflected in the liquid. She lowered her head over the contents, and inhaled deeply, chanting in a Creole of ancient tongues. As she spoke, an iridescent purple mist began to smoke up from the surface. Barbossa shifted his weight, and suddenly the entire barrel bubbled with fury, but not from a boil.

"De gods themselves rely on de life of Jack Sparrow…Dey tell me- only he is capable of restorin dat balance between men and de sea"

Dalma began to move her arms in long, graceful motions over the barrel. Slowly, the contents settled, and the smoke again poured forth. She placed her face close enough to the liquid that the dread locks dipped solidly beneath the surface.

"De heart of Davy Jones…It was taken from me…who took de heart given to dis goddess…"

She peered up at Barbossa, her eyes blood shot from the smoke. He kneeled beside the barrel, and produced his hip flagon. Disgust and fear were written across his face, but he knew the repayment for what he did. Serving as personal mediator to Poseidon had been what saved Barbossa from the Inferno. He dipped the flagon into the fluid, watched with horror as bubbles escaped into a frothy mess on the surface. When there was no longer air left, he raised the flagon to his mouth, and drank in choked gasps. From a rafter of the room, Jack the monkey chirruped softly, not comprehending. Suddenly, Barbossa's head snapped up; a pale stream of the purple liquid dribbled from his mouth. His eyes glowed palely from beneath the brim of his hat. He opened his mouth, and at first only a guttural sound came out, but then words formed

"There are two men…one is cunning-he seeks honor through destruction…the other is dark- he desires revenge against the Leviathan"

Dalma stored the prophetic words in her mind, but even this did not answer all her questions.

"We exist only to appease you, Great One. But to prevent these men's purposes from being completed, we are in need of weapons. They be havin dat heart to control your beast, the Kraken. What is to be our defense against so great of an opponent?"

The possessed Barbossa began to slowly sway in a motion opposite of the sea. The man within denied the desire to fight the foreign psyche.

"There are only two souls to escape the Kraken; when these titans meet in battle, the beast will be free from bondage to any man, and again be guardian of the deeps alone. It will return thence, and never surface again till the seas dry up and the sands fill the sky"

Again, the witch forced the words to engrave themselves into her mind. Already, she was making connections, but nothing could be certain until she'd questioned Barbossa himself, in his right mind. While his flesh was not his own, he could see into the thoughts of the being that controlled him. Nothing clear or for certain, just images and emotions.

She muttered the words again to herself, and began the task of removing the sea god from its earthly cell. With a determined manner, she carried a knife off of the cold floor and dipped it into the now calm fluid of the barrel. The blade glowed, and she brought it close to Barbossa's neck. In precise motions, she cut the bonds of the god, invisible to all but the blade itself. The final cord snapped and the man fell to the floor.

Dalma rushed to his side and pulled his head up. His eyes were wild, the pupils dialated. He opened his mouth to speak,

"Its Sparrow and Beckett. One of them will die."

He then retched up all the contents of his miserable belly onto the floor. Not at all disturbed or disgusted, the witch stood up. With her bare hands, she gathered up the foul and acidic slime that lay on the floor and dropped it into the barrel. Barbossa continued to lay on the floor, groaning in pain. She smiled, this man indeed is willing of redemption. She came to his side and helped him onto the bed. With tender hands, she pulled a slightly soiled cloth from a shallow bowl of cool water, and placed it on his brow. She left him then, and exited to the planks of the ship.

"You are greater than this, Posiedon. Why let these mortal men disrupt the balance you keep?"

The seas rolled and boiled, tipping the tiny ship. But Dalma did not waver; she finally understood. In her heart, she felt the sorrow of the gods. The tears welled up in her eyes, and fell softly to the seas. In lament, she whispered back to the waves,

"Without faith, you are nothing. There are too few believers left in de world for your strength too last."

She stood quietly reflecting for a moment. This expedition of saving Jack Sparrow was indeed more than destiny. She felt a new determination fill her breast. With hardened jaw, she nodded. She was a voodoo lady, and would be damned if the gods ceased to exist for a lack of belief. She breathed deeply and threw her head back; the power of the sea filled her then.

In a trance, she stalked to the aft of the ship. Standing there, and facing the sails, she threw up her arms and called the winds in their own language. From the knowledge of the sea, she recited the most ancient incantations of the wind workers. A gust rushed from the empty sky, and billowed the sails until they nearly spilt. Tia Dalma's bedraggled rags were tossed by the wind, but clung to her flesh.


	9. Chapter 9

Durzas and Ebyn had been pursuing the trail for only ten minutes, when Durzas suddenly stopped dead in his tracks

Barbossa led the woman to her divination post, a small stool seated before a barrel. The barrel was in fact a crude cauldron. It was covered; Dalma delicately removed the wooden slab that served as a lid. Barbossa stepped forward, so that the witch could see his face reflected in the liquid. She lowered her head over the contents, and inhaled deeply, chanting in a Creole of ancient tongues. As she spoke, an iridescent purple mist began to smoke up from the surface. Barbossa shifted his weight, and suddenly the entire barrel bubbled with fury, but not from a boil.

"De gods themselves rely on de life of Jack Sparrow…Dey tell me- only he is capable of restorin dat balance between men and de sea"

Dalma began to move her arms in long, graceful motions over the barrel. Slowly, the contents settled, and the smoke again poured forth. She placed her face close enough to the liquid that the dread locks dipped solidly beneath the surface.

"De heart of Davy Jones…It was taken from me…who took de heart given to dis goddess…"

She peered up at Barbossa, her eyes blood shot from the smoke. He kneeled beside the barrel, and produced his hip flagon. Disgust and fear were written across his face, but he knew the repayment for what he did. Serving as personal mediator to Poseidon had been what saved Barbossa from the Inferno. He dipped the flagon into the fluid, watched with horror as bubbles escaped into a frothy mess on the surface. When there was no longer air left, he raised the flagon to his mouth, and drank in choked gasps. From a rafter of the room, Jack the monkey chirruped softly, not comprehending. Suddenly, Barbossa's head snapped up; a pale stream of the purple liquid dribbled from his mouth. His eyes glowed palely from beneath the brim of his hat. He opened his mouth, and at first only a guttural sound came out, but then words formed

"There are two men…one is cunning-he seeks honor through destruction…the other is dark- he desires revenge against the Leviathan"

Dalma stored the prophetic words in her mind, but even this did not answer all her questions.

"We exist only to appease you, Great One. But to prevent these men's purposes from being completed, we are in need of weapons. They be havin dat heart to control your beast, the Kraken. What is to be our defense against so great of an opponent?"

The possessed Barbossa began to slowly sway in a motion opposite of the sea. The man within denied the desire to fight the foreign psyche.

"There are only two souls to escape the Kraken; when these titans meet in battle, the beast will be free from bondage to any man, and again be guardian of the deeps alone. It will return thence, and never surface again till the seas dry up and the sands fill the sky"

Again, the witch forced the words to engrave themselves into her mind. Already, she was making connections, but nothing could be certain until she'd questioned Barbossa himself, in his right mind. While his flesh was not his own, he could see into the thoughts of the being that controlled him. Nothing clear or for certain, just images and emotions.

She muttered the words again to herself, and began the task of removing the sea god from its earthly cell. With a determined manner, she carried a knife off of the cold floor and dipped it into the now calm fluid of the barrel. The blade glowed, and she brought it close to Barbossa's neck. In precise motions, she cut the bonds of the god, invisible to all but the blade itself. The final cord snapped and the man fell to the floor.

Dalma rushed to his side and pulled his head up. His eyes were wild, the pupils dialated. He opened his mouth to speak,

"Its Sparrow and Beckett. One of them will die."

He then retched up all the contents of his miserable belly onto the floor. Not at all disturbed or disgusted, the witch stood up. With her bare hands, she gathered up the foul and acidic slime that lay on the floor and dropped it into the barrel. Barbossa continued to lay on the floor, groaning in pain. She smiled, this man indeed is willing of redemption. She came to his side and helped him onto the bed. With tender hands, she pulled a slightly soiled cloth from a shallow bowl of cool water, and placed it on his brow. She left him then, and exited to the planks of the ship.

"You are greater than this, Posiedon. Why let these mortal men disrupt the balance you keep?"

The seas rolled and boiled, tipping the tiny ship. But Dalma did not waver; she finally understood. In her heart, she felt the sorrow of the gods. The tears welled up in her eyes, and fell softly to the seas. In lament, she whispered back to the waves,

"Without faith, you are nothing. There are too few believers left in de world for your strength too last."

She stood quietly reflecting for a moment. This expedition of saving Jack Sparrow was indeed more than destiny. She felt a new determination fill her breast. With hardened jaw, she nodded. She was a voodoo lady, and would be damned if the gods ceased to exist for a lack of belief. She breathed deeply and threw her head back; the power of the sea filled her then.

In a trance, she stalked to the aft of the ship. Standing there, and facing the sails, she threw up her arms and called the winds in their own language. From the knowledge of the sea, she recited the most ancient incantations of the wind workers. A gust rushed from the empty sky, and billowed the sails until they nearly spilt. Tia Dalma's bedraggled rags were tossed by the wind, but clung to her flesh.


End file.
